


freedom through your chains

by rhodanum



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, Dominant Armitage Hux, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Impact Play, M/M, Painplay, Submissive Kylo Ren, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18707374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodanum/pseuds/rhodanum
Summary: The next blow and then the ones after it land on his bare back. A cruel, merciless rhythm of Hux’s own design, that Kylo, stripped of his armor and of his status between these four walls, accepts and revels in. Here, he can close his eyes and let go, surrender to the pain and the pleasure both, until all that is left of him is a trembling, wretched, unthinking mess, his own release smeared all over himself, mind and spirit for once dancing in tandem, instead of attempting to rip each other to pieces.





	freedom through your chains

Agony explodes in his left side and he breathes hard, blood dripping down his chin from where he tore his own bottom lip to ribbons with his teeth. The slash on his face has been healed enough that it will not reopen, knotted scar-tissue stretching across cheek and forehead. The very same is true of the deep bowcaster wound under his ribs, but the pain still lingers, deep and resonant. In his bones, in the soft innards, in the back of his mind, a permanent _reminder._

A reminder that General Hux is more than willing to supplement, the next strike of the cane landing against tender skin with a muffled sound, his nude body jerking in place with the pain. He can do very little other than strain the muscles in his shoulders and arch his back, bound as he is, bare knees on the cold metal floor. Both of his arms are bound behind his back, held in place by slim durasteel cuffs. The very same cuffs that also bind his ankles and keep him from pulling himself up from his kneeling position. He could bend and warp and shatter them with but a thought, if he should call upon the power of the Force. 

He does not. 

Kylo Ren comes to this whole arrangement willingly, even when he has to grit his teeth and swallow his words and fight against the shame, burning in his stomach like sulphuric acid. Yet far better the shame, far better the humiliation than the alternatives. 

The next blow lands and he isn’t ready for it, not as he should be, a grunt coming out through gritted teeth, nostrils flared and dark hair falling into his eyes, as his head jerks back and then forward.

“Had enough already?” 

There is an unmistakable sneer of cold mockery in Hux’s voice and Kylo meets those green eyes, looking down at him with something like contempt. This, too, is something he seeks out willingly, even when the rage and the humiliation and the festering power of the dark, coiling like a striking snake under his skin, whispers that he should end this -- should wrap mental fingers around the General’s throat. Cut off his air, lift him off his feet, squeeze until bruises bloom and his legs thrash about uselessly, terror painted all over his arrogant features. 

He does not. 

“Keep... going. _Please”_

It comes out harsh and breathless in equal measures. Kylo Ren would perhaps hate himself more for it, if he wasn’t using this thing to extinguish another kind of conflict, bury it under a barrage of pain and terrible pleasure. Under overwhelming sensory input, enough that his mind has no more room left for those terrible flickers of _‘should have been’_ and _‘could have been.’_

As a boy, he learned easily enough that pain served the best purpose when the monstrous cacophony in his own skull got too much to bear. Now, that lesson comes part-and-parcel with his training in the Dark Side… even if the Supreme Leader would certainly disapprove of this particular application. Not the carnal nature of it, but rather his apprentice using it to _forget._

_‘A child in a mask,’_ the Supreme Leader had called him and the fury still glows white-hot in his veins, even after shattering the damnable thing and being done with it. Yet there had been no lie in Snoke’s words, he knows this to be true, the same as he knows that little mote of light has not yet been extinguished, not even with the blood of Han Solo smeared all over his hands. One more miserable failure that gnaws and scrapes and tears at his innards, for which he must be punished. 

And, as much as he’s always been loath to admit it, hardly anyone metes out punishment better than the man standing in front of him right now. 

“You’ve always been one sick fuck, Ren,” Hux sneers, maneuvering the cane’s tip right underneath Kylo’s jaw and forcing his head even further back, until the muscles and tendons in his neck howl in agony. He breathes through flared nostrils, cock painfully hard and twitching at Hux’s voice, droplets of his pre-come already staining the floor. For this too, he will be punished. 

Hux never touches him with his own hands and this time is absolutely no exception, the cane slowly tracing a line up over his chin and mouth, across the scar disfiguring his features and stopping between his eyes. 

“Disgraceful. To think you were bested by a lowly scavenger-girl…” 

The cane is pulled back and this time it comes down against his right side, making stars bloom in front of his eyes, pain shooting through the nerve-connections. Kylo opens himself up to the pain, embraces it, lets it wrap itself all around him, seething under his skin and burning in his bones. Han Solo’s dying face flashes through his mind and he uses the agony to sear away those familiar features, to warp and blacken them until all that’s left is the sensory overload of his own body screaming at him. 

The next blow and then the ones after it land on his bare back. A cruel, merciless rhythm of Hux’s own design, that Kylo, stripped of his armor and of his status between these four walls, accepts and revels in. Here, he can close his eyes and let go, surrender to the pain and the pleasure both, until all that is left of him is a trembling, wretched, unthinking mess, his own release smeared all over himself, mind and spirit for once dancing in tandem, instead of attempting to rip each other to pieces. _‘You killed him!’_ and _‘it was to free yourself of this conflict!’_ and _‘he was your father and he still believe in you!’_ and _‘you were supposed to rid yourself of these sentimental remnants!’_ are erased, like footsteps in the sand when the high-tide flows in and all that is left is _need_ and _want_ and agony and ecstasy and release and _freedom._

_(‘My chains are broken,’_ the ancient stones on Moraband had whispered and hissed and snarled in his ears, a demented choir perhaps meant to rival the morass in his own mind. _‘The Force shall free me.’)_

One blow catches him in the stomach and Kylo can’t stop the sound that comes out of his throat, tipping backward and landing hard on the floor, arms and legs still bound, leaving him lying there, completely exposed and vulnerable. His breaths come in harsh and ragged, sweat-matted hair sticking to his forehead, throbbing cock still standing at attention. Hux looks down the length of his nose at him and then he brings one foot over Kylo’s erection, pressing the engorged cock against his stomach, digging into his balls with the heel of his well-polished boot. 

“Such a pathetic creature,” Hux purrs, the words both honey and venom. And Kylo takes them all, pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open, spine arching, pushing his erection harder against the General’s boot. This is part of their arrangement as well, this thing of frantic moments and sneered insults and shameless pleas. And Kylo, in his current state, has little room left for pride or for shame, moaning low in his throat. Hux thrusts the cane tip against his lips and Kylo opens his mouth, taking it between his teeth and licking it, feeling the taste of his own sweat and blood on the metal. 

“Suck it,” Hux commands and he does so, wrapping his lips around the cold metal, letting out another muffled moan when Hux’s foot moves over his cock, in hard, merciless circles. “That’s it, Ren. Come for me now. Let me see you fall apart, like the wretched thing you are.” 

It doesn’t take long, the climax making him let out wild, hoarse sounds, his muscles contracting wildly, hips bucking against Hux’s boot. The General pulls both the cane and his foot away, before Kylo’s come can soil it, watching with a small, satisfied smile as Kylo thrashes and twists in his restraints, release splashing over both his stomach and the floor. 

“Clean it up,” Hux orders, as always, using the tip of his boot to roll Kylo over, until he’s lying on his stomach, face nearly pressed against the mess he made. And, as always, made pliant by his orgasm, grateful for the pain, Kylo scoots himself forward and laps at the sticky, salty droplets of moisture on the cold metal floor. 

And, for the moment, the wild screaming, the mad symphony of discord and imbalance in his head is silenced. It will remain silent when he unbinds himself from the cuffs and dresses himself and walks himself out and back to his quarters. It will remain silent until, quite suddenly, that will no longer be the case -- and then he will return to the General’s quarters and kneel and cuff himself and present his skin to be struck and marred and abused, until all that is left is release. 

_(Freedom)._


End file.
